Coming Out of the Dark
by Jordan Trevor
Summary: Beyond the shadows, there is light…
1. Chapter 1

**Coming Out of the Dark**

**Author's Note:** This story was originally published in 1991 in the fanzine _Involution 1._

**Disclaimer:** The crew of the _Enterprise_ doesn't belong to me.

He lifted the veil from Bethany's face. She smiled at him, her blue eyes glistening. She was so beautiful. Jean-Luc reached to touch her cheek - and darkness surrounded him. He froze. His hands, which only moments before had held the smooth satin of the veil, held nothing now.

He'd passed out; that was it. The excitement, the crowd of people, his head injury from that morning. But if he were unconscious, why was he moving, thinking. Suddenly a door opened in the blackness, and there was light pouring in. The shadow around him lifted, and the impenetrable night brightened into a grey twilight.

There was something there, surrounding him. A rhythm that was familiar, like breathing. The sound and the feel washed over him. He squinted at the open door. There were three figures slowly approaching. He could just barely make out their features. One was a tall bearded man, broad shouldered, wearing a costume similar to the man's he'd seen earlier. Beside him was a woman with long dark hair. But the figure that drew his gaze, took his eyes and held them, was the other woman. Her costume was blue, and over that she wore some sort of loose fitting coat.

He knew her. Had known her for a long time. Her hair, like Bethany's, was red. But she was not Bethany. Her name came to him, was there in his mind, and he began to tremble with the realization.

"Beverly?" he whispered.

She quickened her step and came to him, knelt down. She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Yes, Jean-Luc, it's me. You're going to be all right now."

His eyes searched hers, and he reached up hesitantly to touch her face. "Beverly." His voice broke, and tears spilled over, wetting his cheeks. She pulled him close and held him, cradling his body next to hers. Gently she rocked him, her hand smoothing the hair at the back of his neck. He rested his head on her shoulder, lost in the knowledge and fear of who and where he was.

Riker and Troi kept their distance, affording Crusher and Picard what little privacy they could. The first officer had already instructed Security to clear all corridors between the holodeck and Sickbay.

After several minutes, Crusher felt the shaking in Picard's shoulders subside. Slowly, she helped him to his feet. He leaned heavily against her, not so much for physical support, but for the emotional bond he felt with this woman. The corners of his memory were still hazy, as if he were caught between two dreams and could not distinguish which was real and which was not. His fingers closed tightly around the doctor's forearm - flesh and bone. And yet, Bethany had also felt real. Oh, so real when he'd held and kissed her.

As they walked through the corridors, Riker and Troi close behind them, Picard kept his eyes fastened on Crusher's face. She was talking to him, reassuring him, her voice gentle and soothing.

"After a few days' rest, and a good, long talk with Deanna, you'll be just fine. There's nothing to worry about."

But he was worried. He knew who he was, but the details of his life seemed far away, out of reach. He shook his head, as if to clear away the cobwebs.

"You're tired right now," Crusher continued. "It'll all seem clearer in the morning."

Perhaps she was right. He was so very tired. His head felt heavy and again he laid it on her soft shoulder. He felt her hand on his cheek.

"We're almost there."

Moments later, they reached Sickbay, and by the time the medics had him undressed and eased into bed, he was half asleep. Still he was aware of her, hovering over him, treating the cut on his forehead. He winced when she pulled the old bandage away.

"Oh, this isn't too bad," she whispered, dabbing at it with a wet cloth. "Tomorrow you won't even know it was there."

She turned away to pick up an instrument on the cart behind her.

"No," he said hoarsely, grabbing her arm, thinking she was leaving. "Don't go."

"Jean-Luc, it's all right. I'm not going anywhere." She pried his fingers loose and laid his hand on the bed. "But you need to sleep."

She reached behind her, picked up a hypo-spray, and pressed it to his neck. "Good night, Captain."

Captain. Yes. That sounded right. Familiar, real, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. Captain.

~vVv~

When he opened his eyes, Crusher was there, smiling down at him, red hair framing her face.

"Where am I?" he demanded, startled by the lights.

"You're in Sickbay," she answered. "You're all right." She gave him a moment to adjust to his surroundings, then asked, "What do you remember?"

Remember. What did he remember? "I was on the holodeck," he answered hesitantly, looking to her for confirmation.

"That's right," she affirmed. "What else?"

He ran his fingers over his forehead. There was nothing there except for a tenderness over his left eye. "I fell."

Crusher nodded. "Go on."

"I..." Images darted through his mind. People he knew, and yet...didn't. A large white house with columns, a shaded lawn, filtered sunlight through moss laden trees. His head began to pound. He squinted from the pain.

"It's all right." Crusher touched his shoulder. "Relax."

"I...I don't remember," he sighed.

"You will. Deanna's going to come and talk with you."

He frowned. "Beverly." Fear was creeping into his voice. "What happened to me?" He suddenly remembered walking with her from the holodeck to Sickbay, leaning on her, cradling his head against her shoulder. Crying. His hands gripped the blankets. "What happened?"

"We're not sure." She massaged his shoulder, hoping to ease the tension. "You're going to have to remember. And you will."

He swallowed and looked away from her. "I was frightened." He paused, realizing that this was the only person he could tell this to. He never had to tell Troi, she always sensed it. But he wanted to tell Beverly Crusher. He turned his eyes back to her. "I'm still frightened."

Her hand traveled down his arm, touched his fingers, squeezed them. "It's all right. We all get frightened sometimes."

"But I'm the captain."

"Oh. So that automatically makes you immune?"

"No, but..." His cheeks were flushed.

She knew what he was thinking. "Yesterday, you were hurt, confused. You had every right to be frightened. Jean, despite what you may think, captains are not perfect. Although, you come pretty damned close." She grinned.

Her remark elicited a faint smile. "Are you saying that I'm perfect?"

"I said close." She gazed at him, and felt her concern begin to ease. He would be all right; deep down, he had a strength that would sustain him. "You'll feel better after you talk to Deanna. Trust her with those fears. She's good at her job."

"I know," he agreed.

She let go of his hand. "I'll look in on you later." She turned to go.

"Beverly?"

The doctor looked back at him.

"You're pretty good at your job, too."

She smiled. "Thanks. I do my best."

~vVv~

Picard was sitting up, drinking a cup of tea, when Deanna Troi arrived. "You're looking well," she commented as she sat down in the chair next to his bed.

"Looks can be deceiving."

Troi smiled. "Beverly says that physically you're doing just fine."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "And what did Beverly say about me emotionally?"

"She's leaving that up to you and me to decide."

"Smart woman."

"Very."

Picard leaned over and placed his cup on the bedside table. "So, Counselor, where do we begin?"

"Why don't we begin with the last thing you remember clearly," she suggested.

He frowned slightly, his eyes squinted, forehead wrinkled. "I guess being on the bridge..."

_"It may get a little bumpy, Captain. But it's strictly routine, and I can assure you I have everything under control." The chief engineer's disembodied voice wafted across the bridge._

_"No assurances necessary, Mister LaForge. I have no doubts whatsoever of your capability. Proceed when you're ready._

_"Yes, sir."_

_Picard settled back in his command chair, and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He sighed deeply._

_Sensing his captain's weariness, Will Riker leaned toward him. "Sir, since these tests on the warp drive engines are simply routine, perhaps..." His voice trailed off._

_Picard raised an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps what, Number One?"_

_"Well, sir," Riker continued quietly, "you have been on the bridge now for an awfully long time, and..."_

_"Are you suggesting that I've over-stayed my welcome?" He stared at his first officer inquiringly._

_"If Will's not suggesting it, sir, then I am." The voice was soft, yet firm._

_Picard turned his head, his eyes meeting Deanna Troi's. "Are you?'_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"I see." He glanced back at Riker. "In that case, Number One, you have the bridge." He stood and looked down at Troi. "And you, Counselor, may have it with him."_

_"Aye, aye, Captain," she murmured, a smile playing across her lips._

_Picard strode to the forward turbo-lift and, without so much as a last glance at the bridge, disappeared inside of it. Riker and Troi stared at each other, both with a "that was too easy" look on their faces._

_Riker grinned as he moved into the captain's chair. "What do you make of that?" His eyes darted toward the closed doors of the turbo-lift._

_"Perhaps there's some place else he'd rather be," Troi commented._

_"Some place other than the bridge?" Riker glanced at her, doubtfully._

_"Apparently so."_

~vVv~


	2. Chapter 2

_A slow smile spread across Picard's face as the lift doors closed behind him. He could imagine the looks of confusion on Riker's and Troi's faces. He seldom gave into their coddling so easy. But this time they were right, so instead of arguing with them, he simply complied with their wishes. He had been on the bridge for an awfully long time, through the first shift, and most of the second. Something he rarely allowed his senior officers to do._

_He stretched and arched his back. His spine cracked. He'd grown stiff and tired after almost fourteen hours of sitting on the bridge. But the prospect of retiring to his cabin and sleeping didn't appeal to him. He realized he had to go somewhere, because the lift wasn't moving, merely sitting there waiting for his command. And then it came to him. The new holodeck program, the one he'd been looking forward to for the past week._

_"Deck 12. Holodeck 3," he intoned._

~vVv~

_Picard pulled the cuffs around his wrists, and straightened the black string tie. He reached up and touched the computer panel next to the portal. "Computer. Earth, North American Continent, United States, Louisiana, antebellum plantation. Year, 1875."_

_The doors rumbled open in front of him. A warm breeze drifted out. He stepped inside, his boots sinking into the thick green grass. The portal closed behind him and seemingly solidified into a magnolia tree. He breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of the countryside, the flowers, the new mown hay. He was standing next to a tree-lined dirt road, grassy meadows, dotted with black and white cattle, stretching out far to either side._

_"Amazing," he murmured. "Absolutely amazing."_

_He walked over to the road and looked down it. A white columned mansion sat at the end, surrounded by towering old oak trees. Picard smiled. It looked just the way he'd hoped it would - stately, formal, yet inviting._

_"I wonder if anyone's home," Picard thought aloud, starting off down the road with long strides._

He rubbed his eyes. There was a pressure building behind them. "That's all," he mumbled. "All I can remember."

Troi nodded. "You're doing just fine, sir." She held up her hand. In it was the small instrument she sometimes used to help place people under hypnosis.

Picard eyed her warily. "You're going to hypnotize me?" His voice shook slightly.

"Only if it's all right with you. If it's not, I wouldn't be able to."

He sighed, swallowed. "It's all right," he murmured.

Troi smiled. "Okay." She lifted the instrument up to his eye level, turned it on. A small blue light began to flash intermittently. "Just focus on the light," she said softly. "Breathe deeply."

Several minutes passed, and Picard began to relax, the tension in his shoulders eased, the pressure behind his eyes receded. He was growing tired, and his head felt heavy.

"You're very relaxed," Troi's voice was almost a whisper, but Picard heard it like someone calling to him down a tunnel. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the pillow.

"You're walking down the road, toward the house... "

_He felt as if he were choking, and he coughed convulsively. He opened his eyes. He was lying in the middle of the road, dust rising around him._

_"Jean-Luc." The voice was high, feminine, urgent._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he saw wooden wheel spokes and horse's hooves. A pair of booted feet were trudging toward him._

_"Mister Jean-Luc." A man knelt beside him, large hands helping him to a sitting position._

_"Sam?" It was the woman._

_"He's all right, Miss Bethany. Just got the wind knocked out of him." He struggled to inhale, gasping._

_"Easy there." The man rubbed his back._

_There was a rustle of long skirts against his shoulder and the woman bent down. _

_A soft hand touched his chin, tilted his head back. "Jean-Luc, are you all right?"_

_Finally he was able to draw air into his lungs, but instead of answering aloud, he simply nodded at the woman._

_"Your head," she murmured, drawing a lace handkerchief from a pocket in her dress. She gently wiped his forehead. He cringed, and pulled away slightly._

_"It's not a bad cut, Miss Bethany," the man confirmed, "but maybe Lena oughta' take a look at it."_

_"It is bleeding a lot," she said, pressing the handkerchief against his forehead._

_"Head always bleeds a lot when it gets cut open. Nothin' to worry about, Mister Jean-Luc, you gonna be just fine."_

_He stared up at them. The woman seemed so familiar; she looked like, even sounded like...who? Who did she remind him of?_

_"Let's get him on his feet, Miss Bethany." Sam placed a hand under his arm, lifted him up. Jean-Luc felt dizzy. Everything around him went gold, then black._

~vVv~

_He opened his eyes, and he didn't know where he was. Wasn't even sure who he was. He was lying in a bed, his head cushioned by soft feather pillows. He looked around slowly. The room was big, the ceiling high. Heavy drapes hung over the windows, and pale sunlight filtered in around the edges. It illuminated the room just enough so that he could make out the heavy, dark furniture: an armoire, a chest of drawers, a dresser, a vanity, and beside the fireplace, a rocking chair. And sitting in it, a woman. He started to sit up, and the pounding in his head intensified. With a groan, he fell back onto the pillow._

_"Best not try that again. Just lie still and maybe by this afternoon you'll feel better." The voice was rich and mellow, and it came closer to him as the woman continued. "You've had Miss Bethany all alarmed, even though I told her it wasn't more than a scratch."_

_She stood over him now, smiling, dark brown eyes in a warm brown face, a soft hand reaching out, inspecting the cut on his forehead. She didn't hurt him, but he stiffened involuntarily at her touch._

_"Oh now, you just relax," she chided. "I've doctored more people in my life than you can even begin to count. Sides, who nursed you through that fever you had last winter?"_

_He stared up at her, confused. Apparently she had. But he couldn't remember; couldn't remember her or the fever, or last winter. The confusion must have shown in his eyes._

_"Don't you worry about it. Like I said, it ain't nothin' but a scratch, but you're entitled to feel a bit shaken up." She pulled the quilt up around his shoulders, and he realized someone had put a clean nightshirt on him. "You just sleep now. Best thing for ya'. And if you need anything, I'll be right here. _

_Just call my name."_

_He yawned, suddenly realizing just how tired he was. And the last thought he had, before he drifted off, was I don't know your name._

"Guinan." He said the name flatly, and opened his eyes.

Troi stared back at him. "Captain?" She leaned toward him, touched him on the arm, brought his empty gaze back into focus.

"It was Guinan," he whispered, his eyes lit up in recognition.

"It was a holodeck image," Troi gently reminded him.

"Yes, of course," he agreed quickly, "but she looked like Guinan." He rubbed his head. The ache had returned. "How could I have been injured on the holodeck? What happened to the failsafe?"

Troi shook her head. "We're not sure. Geordi is looking into it. From what you've just told me it sounds like your run-in with the wagon coincides with Geordi's tests on the warp engines. It got pretty bumpy there for a while."

Picard averted his eyes from hers, stared past her at the wall. "While I was in there," he began hesitantly, "what happened out here?"

_"The holodeck," Will Riker grinned up at Deanna Troi as she walked through the ready room door. He was sitting behind the captain's desk._

_"What about the holodeck?" she asked, smiling at the self-satisfied look on his face._

_"That's where the captain is."_

_"Oh," Troi's smile broadened as she took a seat in front of him, "that's good. He needs the diversion, and he enjoys the holodeck."_

_Riker leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "He does enjoy the holodeck, doesn't he?"_

_Troi nodded. "I think our captain benefits the most from his relaxation times when he can forget for a while that he's the captain."_

_"Come on, Deanna," Riker rolled his eyes, "he never forgets he's the captain."_

_"No, I suppose not, but at least it allows him to...feel like someone else for a while."_

_"Dixon Hill, Private Eye," Riker laughed, then stopped abruptly as the ship lurched. "Geordi wasn't kidding when he said it may get a little bumpy."_

_"Geordi rarely kids about his warp engines," Troi said, then reached out quickly and grabbed hold of the edge of the desk as the ship lurched again._

_A concerned look passed over Riker's face and he tapped his communicator. "Commander LaForge?"_

_"Sorry about that, sir," the Chief Engineer replied, "that should be the worst of it."_

_"That's fine, Geordi, just as long as you have everything under control."_

_"I do, sir."_

_"Good. Riker out."_

_He sighed with an air of possessive permanence and leaned further back in the captain's chair. Troi stared at him, a smile lighting her eyes. "We all have our fantasies, don't we?"_

_"What?" he asked, confused._

_"Well, while the captain may be living out his Dixon Hill fantasy, I get the distinct impression that you're living out yours."_

_He grinned. "Captain of the Enterprise?"_

_Troi nodded. "It could happen. You did a fine job during the Borg incident."_

_He grimaced slightly. "Thanks, Deanna. But I never again want to assume command at the expense of Captain Picard."_

_"Of course you don't. But he may not always be a captain."_

_Riker's grin returned. "Admiral Picard?" The image of a silver-haired man with a moustache and goatee floated through his mind, a left-over memory from his encounter with Barash, or "Jean-Luc" as he liked to think of him. He shook his head, thoughtfully. "Yes, it could happen. But it'd be damn difficult to pry the captain away from the Enterprise."_

_Troi smiled. "Just like it's been difficult to pry you away."_

_"There's something about this ship, Deanna. She reaches out and takes hold of a person."_

_Troi nodded in agreement, but didn't say out loud what she was thinking. It's more than this ship, Will Riker. You know that. It's the people you work with, and care about, like the captain, and the bridge crew, Beverly Crusher...and me. _

_But "I know" was all she offered. Then she rose to her feet. "Well, I've got some appointments to keep."_

_Riker stood also._

_"And you have a fantasy to live," she continued as she walked over to the door. She looked back over her shoulder at the tall, handsome first officer. "Enjoy it." Imzadi._

_He smiled warmly, felt the soft touch of her mind to his. "I will, Deanna."_

~vVv~


	3. Chapter 3

_Several hours later, Will Riker leaned back in the center command chair, stretched his long legs out in front of him, suppressed a yawn. He reached up, inconspicuously, and rubbed his eyes. The captain's probably asleep by now, he thought, almost enviously. An outing on the holodeck, a hot shower, a little something to eat, and then bed. As much as he liked being in command, the scenario sounded good._

_He glanced over at the chair to the left of him. Deanna Troi stared back. She'd returned to the bridge a half hour ago, having completed her counseling sessions with various crew members. He felt, somewhat uncomfortably, that he was her next appointment, sitting there, the object of her quiet observation. But she's not doing anything out of the ordinary, he thought to himself. Deanna Troi always observed him, and other people as well, with a calm, discerning, dark-eyed gaze. It was just her way. He smiled at her, and she smiled back._

_"Engineering to Bridge."_

_He jumped, so slightly that it wouldn't have been noticed by anyone but Troi. The counselor noticed everything._

_He touched his communicator. "Riker here."_

_"Commander." It was LaForge's voice. "I wanted to inform you that preliminary and secondary tests of the warp drive engines have been completed. All information has been downloaded into the appropriate engineering files, ready to be reviewed at your convenience. The results are all within the specified norms," the Chief Engineer added._

_Will Riker nodded his head, suspecting that not only were those results within specified norms, but at the very top of those norms. If there was one thing Geordi LaForge did damn well, it was taking care of their ship._

_"Very good, Lieutenant," Riker replied. "I'll pass your information on to the captain."_

_"Yes, sir. Engineering out."_

_Riker tabbed his communicator again. "Captain Picard?"_

_There was no response._

_Riker squinted his eyes slightly at Troi, and tried again. "Riker to Captain Picard."_

_Still, there was nothing._

_"Computer?" Riker's voice remained calm, but Troi sensed the urgency behind it. "Location of Captain Picard?"_

_"Captain Picard is on Holodeck Three."_

_Riker's eyes widened. "Still?" He posed the one-word question in Troi's direction, but the computer answered._

_"Captain Picard has been on Holodeck Three for four-point-three-six hours."_

_Riker swallowed, stared hard at Troi, then hit his communicator. "Commander LaForge, meet me at Holodeck Three."_

_"Yes, sir," he acknowledged without a delay._

_Riker stood, headed up the ramp. "Worf, you're with me. Data, you have the bridge."_

_Troi's dark eyes followed him. "Commander? I think I'd better go with you."_

_"All right, Counselor."_

_She joined them in the aft turbolift, the doors closed._

_"Holodeck Three," Worf bellowed. The lift began to move._

_Riker studied Troi with a worried expression on his face. _What is it, Deanna? What's happened to him?_ The wordless questions formed in his mind. And her answer returned to him. _I'm not sure.

~vVv~

_Geordi LaForge was there ahead of them, an engineering technician at his side. He straightened up from an open control panel._

_"The Captain's in there, Geordi," Riker said._

_LaForge shook his head. "I knew someone was. But I can't gain access."_

_"Is there a program running inside?" Riker inquired, glancing down at the minute circuitry inside the panel._

_"Yes."_

_"Parameters?"_

_"Now, that's a little sketchy. I can tell you it's a country setting. So that pretty much rules out Dixon Hill."_

_Riker gave LaForge a frustrated look. "Have you any idea why we can't get in there? We haven't been probed by anything this time."_

_"We're still working on that one." He started to turn back to the panel, but Riker caught hold of his upper arm._

_"Is the Captain all right in there?"_

_"As far as I can tell, yes."_

_Riker touched his communicator. "Doctor Crusher?"_

_"Crusher here. Commander Data has informed me of the situation."_

_Riker breathed a small sigh of relief. Thank God for Data. Always a step ahead of them. "Are you able to monitor the Captain's life signs?"_

_"Affirmative," the doctor returned. "All seem to be fairly normal, although I am detecting a slight decrease in blood pressure. But it's nothing terribly serious."_

_"Understood. You'll let me know if there's any change?"_

_"Of course, I will."_

_Riker gazed over at Troi. "Deanna?"_

_"I don't sense much. Mild confusion maybe."_

_He nodded his head, looked back at LaForge. "Can you get inside there?"_

_"Eventually. It might take a little time."_

_"Do your best."_

_"Always, Commander."_

_"Deanna, you and Worf stay here. I'll be on the bridge. Geordi let me know as soon as you get this thing open."_

_"Aye, aye, sir."_

~vVv~

_"Jean-Luc?" The voice was calling to him, softly, pulling him from the warm, dark shadows of sleep. He felt a cool, wetness on his forehead, and reluctantly he opened his eyes. There was a woman sitting on the edge of his bed, bathing his face with a cloth. Around her, the bedroom glowed with the amber hues of lamplight. She was the same woman who'd helped him on the road, red hair, fair skin, deep blue eyes. He stared into them, tried his best to remember who she was. The man had called her Miss... Miss..._

_"Bethany?"_

_"I'm right here." She caressed his cheek with her fingers. "You had me scared to death, Jean-Luc."_

_He swallowed. "Sorry." And he swallowed again. His throat felt dry. "Could I have...some water?" he mumbled._

_She reached over, took a glass from the bedside table, and then, holding his head up from the pillow, she held it to his lips. Jean-Luc sipped at it. "Umm," he groaned slightly as some of it dripped onto his chin and down his neck. She drew the glass away, dried him with the damp cloth._

_"Can I sit up?_

_"Are you sure you want to?"_

_"Yes." He pushed his hands against the mattress, sat up, and Bethany placed another pillow behind his back._

_"How do you feel?"_

_"A little headache," he admitted._

_"Lena says that's to be expected. She says that's what you get when you walk out in front of wagons, no matter how slow they may be going."_

_So, that's what had happened. He'd walked in front of the wagon and been knocked down._

_"Sam says you were lucky that Poli and Sal didn't get spooked and trample you." She sighed and leaned over, kissed him softly on the lips. He found himself kissing her back. A few moments later she pulled away. "Wouldn't that have been something for the New Orleans newspaper? Groom trampled by horses. And on the day of our wedding. Listen to me, Jean-Luc. You're not getting out of this so easily. Lena thinks you'll still be strong enough to walk down the aisle."_

_Groom. Wedding. Aisle. The words danced in Jean-Luc's mind, twisted and turned and toppled over one another. He was getting married. Here. Today. To this woman. And she kissed him again. "I love you, Jean-Luc," she whispered._

_That's a relief, he thought, seeing that we're going to be married. But do I love you? He gazed into her blue eyes, and a little voice deep inside him answered. Yes, you do. Very much._

_And yet, something had happened when the wagon knocked him down - something serious, and frightening. Something he could barely admit to himself, let alone to this woman who loved him. He'd lost his memory. All of it. Had no idea who he was, other than the fact that his name was Jean-Luc. He knew only this woman, and Sam, and the other one, the one they called Lena. Knew he was to be married today, here, wherever here was. New Orleans. She'd mentioned New Orleans; and he held to the realization that here must be somewhere near there._

_"Now," Bethany stood, and picked up a robe from the foot of the bed, "Mama has gone ahead with the wedding dinner she's having on the front lawn. She's busy making excuses for the both of us. And Papa's down there as well, smoking his pipe and talking cattle to Mister Beaumont. But, " she drew back the blankets, helped him put on the dark, maroon robe, "there's no one in the small garden, and Lena's fixed you something to eat. She says the fresh air will do wonders for you."_

_He sighed, got out of bed. A slight wave of dizziness swept over him, but he steadied himself, held tightly to Bethany's arm._

_"That's right," she patted his hand, "you just hold on to me."_

_She led him out of the room and into the hall, down a small flight of back stairs, and through the dining room. After being in the curtained room, he squinted from the sunlight pouring through the open windows. Music and people's voices floated in, but Bethany took him away from the sounds, out the back door, to a small garden that was situated between the main house and what appeared to be the cook house. There was a wrought iron table and chairs under the shadow of an old oak tree, and Bethany set him down. Then she went to the door of the cook house and called inside._

_"We're here, Lena."_

_"Comin' Miss Bethany." And the woman appeared in the open door, carrying a tray. "He's walkin' all right?" she asked as she came over to the table, set the tray down._

_"Just fine," Bethany smiled and sat down across from him._

_Lena put her hand on his forehead. Jean-Luc sat there silently, submitting to her examination. "Good. You've cooled down a bit. Now, you eat this. It'll give ya' strength." And she left them._

_Jean-Luc looked down at the contents of the tray: two brimming bowls of vegetable soup, bread and butter, a pitcher of milk, and two glasses. Bethany placed one of the bowls in front of him, and then leaned over and tucked a napkin under his chin. "Mama has tons of food on the front lawn, roast beef, pork, fried chicken, but I thought soup would probably be better for you. Trust me, there'll be enough food left over for us to eat on it the rest of the week."_

_"This is fine," Jean-Luc murmured, lifted his spoon and took a bite. It was good, warm._

_Bethany poured milk into their glasses, and for several minutes they did nothing but eat and drink. But a million thoughts were running through Jean-Luc's mind. Do I tell her? On the day of our wedding, do I tell this woman that I can't remember her? Can't even remember myself. Will it come back? Will I suddenly know who I am? Or will it be like this always, blank, empty? But there was that feeling, that he did know her, and love her. But would it be enough?_

_"Tastes good, doesn't it?"_

_Jean-Luc looked up. He'd been staring into his soup bowl, as if looking for answers amid the corn and okra and tomatoes. "Yes," he replied, "it's very good."_

_Just then, the back dining room door swung open and a woman appeared. She was older than Bethany, her dark hair pulled up on top of her head. She hurried over to them, leaned down and kissed him on the cheek._

_"Jean-Luc, you had us all so frightened. Are you feeling better?" Her voice was softly accented French with a slow Southern drawl. There was something familiar about her; and although he didn't know her he felt distinctly uncomfortable in her presence._

_"Yes, yes, I am," he answered, swallowing._

_"Thank goodness. One can't have a wedding without a groom." She reached over and took hold of Bethany's hand. "Dear, don't you think you'd best start getting ready? Missy's upstairs drawing a bath for you."_

_Bethany smiled, a little wearily. "Yes, Mama."_

_"And I'll have her draw one for you, too, Jean-Luc, but you take the time and finish your dinner first."_

_"Yes, Ma'am." He had the feeling that this woman was one to be obeyed._

_She put her hands on her hips. "Now, I've seen to the two of you, but there was another reason why I came back here. Oh, yes, we've run out of punch. Well, we didn't actually run out. We had to throw most of the bowl over the fence. I discovered that George had poured almost a pint of Kentucky bourbon in there." _

_She walked toward the cook house, shaking her head. "Now those men can drink what they want, but they've got to leave the punch alone for the women and children." She disappeared inside._

_Bethany laughed softly. "She's enjoying herself. Mama likes nothing more than a houseful of family and friends."_

_Jean-Luc nodded, but remained silent. Who the hell was George?_

_"Well," Bethany pushed herself up from the table, "I'd better go get ready." She stopped beside him, placed her hand on his cheek. "You know, we've already broken one of the rules."_

_He looked at her, expectantly._

_"The groom's not supposed to see the bride before the wedding." She kissed him on the forehead. "I hope it won't jinx anything. Because I'm planning on having a good, long life with you, Jean-Luc. Now," she rubbed his shoulder, "like Mama said, you finish your dinner and then go take a hot bath. If you need any help, just call for Cyrus. He's probably in the main house somewhere." And then she was gone, and he was alone in the garden._

_A gentle breeze blew through the leaves of the oak tree, and the sunlight played in crisscross patterns on the grey flagstones. The sounds of birds, and music, and people mixed together, creating a constant background noise. But it didn't seem right. He felt, suddenly, as if he were in the wrong place, the wrong time, but he had no idea what could be done about it. So, he finished his soup, drank the rest of his milk, then got up from his chair. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, dropped it on the table, and headed toward the back door. His memory would come back to him. It had to. But if it didn't, then he would have to create a new life, here, in this place, with Bethany._

_"She takes good care of you, doesn't she?"_

_He turned quickly to his right. There was a woman, on the other side of the patio, standing under a rose-covered trellis, her brown hair brushing against her shoulders._

_Jean-Luc inhaled sharply, then swallowed, suddenly nervous, but not sure why._

_"I beg your pardon?"_

_The woman took a couple of steps toward him. "I said, she takes good care of you, doesn't she?" She stopped right in front of him, uncomfortably close._

_Jean-Luc swallowed again. "Shouldn't she?"_

_"I suppose."_

_She gently touched the bandage on his forehead, deep concern showing in her eyes. Her eyes. Why did he feel as if he'd stared into them before? _

_Unconsciously, he leaned toward her, but then she drew her hand away, took a step back. "Taking care of people is what she does best."_

_The woman walked over to the table, leaned against it, tilted her head to one side, and looked at him knowingly, as though remembering something he could not. _

_The dull pain in Jean-Luc's head made him feel unsteady, and her gaze made him feel uncomfortable, but it challenged him. He stepped over to the chair, put his hand on the back of it, leveled his eyes on her._

_"And what do you do best?" he asked evenly._

_She reached out, placed her hand against his cheek, leaned into him, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Instinctively, he kissed her back._

_"How quickly you forget." She smiled at him playfully. "And I wasn't even gone that long."_

_She sat down in a chair, and Jean-Luc sat opposite her._

_"I didn't realize that I was supposed to ask you to wait for me." Her smile was suddenly gone. "I thought it was understood that I'd be back."_

_"I...I didn't know that " Jean-Luc stammered, unsure of how to respond. He hesitated, then continued, struggling to explain something he could not. "You don't understand... "_

_The look on her face softened. "I do understand, Jean-Luc. I know your feelings for Bethany. I always have. And I know how she feels about you. But marrying her? Are you sure you're not doing this out of some sort of...misguided loyalty to Jackson?"_

_The name caused Jean-Luc to gasp, but he responded immediately to her question. "Nol"_

_She leaned toward him, placed her hand on his knee, looked up into his eyes. "The war is over Jean-Luc, and just because you came back, and Jackson didn't, that doesn't mean you owe something to Bethany. It isn't a debt you have to repay."_

_He looked away from her, feeling the unwanted sting of tears in his eyes. Tears for a man he could not remember._

_"What we've shared has meant a lot to me." Her voice was gentle. "I care about you very much. And I'm back now. Surely it's not too late."_

_He rapidly blinked back his tears, returned her gaze. "For what?"_

_"For us." Her hand squeezed his knee. "I know you care for me. You told me that once. You said you might not show your feelings for me in front of others, but that you did have them. Do you remember?'_

_Despite his fear and uncertainty, Jean-Luc laughed slightly. "No, actually I..." _

_He stopped, hit hard by a sudden realization. "I do remember," he murmured, reaching up to touch her cheek with the back of his hand. "I just don't..."_

_The woman took his hand in hers. "What about us?"_

_Jean-Luc shook his head slowly. "I don't know."_

_"I think I could belong here now. You never know, I might be suited for life in the country."_

_A soft smile crossed his face. "Somehow I doubt that."_

_She rubbed her cheek against his hand. "We could try."_

_Jean-Luc lowered his eyes. "I just don't know."_

_She smiled sadly. "I do."_

_Drawing her hand away from his grasp, she stood up, then leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Goodbye, Jean-Luc."_

_The woman turned and walked out through the trellis. Jean-Luc watched her go._

_He had loved her at one time. He knew that. Somewhere in the past of the life he could not remember, he had loved the woman. And she'd loved him; she still loved him. But did he love her? Could he love her? He didn't even know her name._

_The ache in his head had become a stabbing pain, and he rubbed at the back of his neck._

_Bethany. He knew Bethany's name, her face. And he loved her, here, now. He clung to that belief as he slowly got to his feet, walked back across the patio to the dining room door. He looked over again at the trellis and felt a bit of nausea grab hold of his stomach. He reached out, leaned against the door jamb. Now who was it he was supposed to call? Oh, yes. He tipped his head back, "Cyrus!"_

_The butler helped him up the stairs, but he managed the hot bath on his own. Afterwards, in his room, he found a suit laid out on his bed, dark grey, with a white pressed shirt and a black string tie. He put them on; had a little trouble with the tie. He sighed. Had he forgotten how to dress himself as well? Wouldn't tying a tie be second nature? Apparently not, for he had to leave it semi-knotted around his neck. Then he wandered downstairs, back through the dining room to the garden. There was no one there, though he stared at the trellis for long minutes, wondering if the woman would return. Yet, deep down, he knew she wouldn't._

_He went over, sat down in one of the chairs. But he didn't sit there for long. He stood back up and started pacing, back and forth. After all, isn't that what grooms did? Pace?_

_"A little nervous?" The voice came from just over his shoulder. He spun around, and had no idea who the man standing there was. "Well, in an hour it'll all be over. You're not having second thoughts are you?"_

_For an instant, Jean-Luc felt like laughing out loud. Should tell this man whom I don't even know, that all my thoughts are first thoughts?_

_"N-no," he stammered instead, "no second thoughts."_

_"That's good." The man walked over to the table and sat down in a chair. _

_Jean-Luc sank into the chair opposite him. He was an older man; at least fifteen, twenty years older than himself, grey hair, broad shoulders, tanned face. He held a pipe in his hand. "Wouldn't want you to have second thoughts when I'm giving you my daughter. She's precious, Jean-Luc."_

_"Yes, sir, she is."_

_"I know you'll take good care of her."_

_"I'll try my best."_

_The man smiled wryly. "Just don't go walking in front of any wagons with her."_

_Jean-Luc rubbed his fingers lightly over the bandage on his forehead. "I'll be more careful in the future."_

~vVv~


	4. Chapter 4

_"That...should...do it." LaForge stepped back from the circuitry panel._

_"Can you open it?" Troi asked._

_"I think so."_

_"Think?" Worf inquired gruffly. "The Captain is in there. I suggest we be sure."_

_LaForge grimaced. "I'm as sure as I can be." He tapped his communicator. "Commander Riker?"_

_"Geordi?" Riker's voice came back to him. "Are you in there yet?"_

_"I'm just about to try it."_

_"Make it so."_

_The Chief Engineer reached down, connected the final two circuits, and the portal groaned open. The green, cow-dotted countryside spread out before them. _

_Worf took a step toward it, but Troi placed a hand on his arm._

_"Counselor?" He studied the expression on her face._

_"I think perhaps just Geordi and I should go in."_

_"Why?" Worf asked._

_Troi shook her head. "I'm not sure."_

_"Worf," LaForge looked over at the chief security officer, "we can contact you if we need you."_

_"All right," he agreed reluctantly._

_LaForge touched his communicator again. "Commander Riker?"_

_"Yes, Commander?"_

_"We've got the holodeck open. The program is still running. The information panel identifies it as the southern United States. Time: 1875. Counselor Troi and I are going in now."_

_"Understood," he replied, and then added, "Find him Geordi."_

_"We will."_

~vVv~

_Jean-Luc was back on his feet, pacing again, his future father-in-law watching him. "You'll wear yourself out, boy," the man laughed._

_Jean-Luc stopped and leaned against the back of a chair. He was getting a bit dizzy. He smiled at the man. It sounded odd to be called "boy". For some reason, instinctively, he knew that "boy" was not something he was often called. But it didn't bother him. In a way, it was comforting._

_"Here." The man took a silver flask from his inside coat pocket, extended it toward him. "Have a little of this. It'll settle your nerves."_

_Jean-Luc took it, removed the cap, inhaled the strong smell of liquor. He took a swig of it, let it roll over his tongue, down his throat, felt it warm his chest. He re-capped it, handed it back to the man._

_"Feel better?"_

_Jean-Luc nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you."_

_"Best not breathe in Mama's direction. She's on the war path. Already mad as a wet hen with George for spiking the punch. If you ask me, made the stuff taste damn better."_

_Jean-Luc laughed, and stared over the man's shoulder at the crepe myrtle and honeysuckle that surrounded the garden. The leaves moved. Not gently, as if the wind had rustled through them, but suddenly, unexpected. And then he saw a face, staring back at him. A dark face with something covering his eyes._

_"Who are you?" he demanded. The face disappeared._

_Bethany's father turned abruptly in his chair, looked curiously at the place where Jean-Luc was staring._

_"Who the hell are you talking to?" he queried._

_"There...there was someone there." Jean-Luc gripped the back of the chair._

_"Probably one of the guests. There milling around out there thicker than fleas. I swear, that wife of mine invited half the state of Louisiana to this wedding. But it should be that way. This is a real occasion."_

_Jean-Luc continued to stand there, staring blankly at the bushes. Something about the man he'd just seen was familiar, but he didn't know why. He wasn't one of the guests, he knew that. He was someone else, from somewhere else. He started to shake inside, gasped for breath._

_"Jean-Luc?" The older man rose and stepped over to him, wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Sit down, son." He eased him into the chair, then knelt beside him, rubbing him gently on the back. "Maybe we should have postponed this wedding."_

_Jean-Luc shook his head. "No." Marrying Bethany was the only thing that felt right. They couldn't take that away from him._

_"I don't know," the man sighed, "you're not in very good shape."_

_"I'll be fine," he forced himself to calm down. "I, uh...I'd like to talk to Bethany."_

_"All right. I'll go get her for you." The man stood up, took a few steps, then looked back over his shoulder. "You sure you're going to be okay?"_

_"Yes," Jean-Luc -swallowed, "I'll be fine." And he would be. He just needed Bethany._

_"I'll send her down to you." And the man went into the house._

_Five minutes later, Bethany hurried into the garden wearing a dark green dressing gown. She went over to the chair where Jean-Luc was still sitting, knelt in front of him, took his hands in hers. "Jean-Luc?"_

_He smiled faintly at her. "Bethany."_

_"Papa told me what happened. He's worried about you." She rubbed her fingers along the back of his neck. "So am I. We don't have to have the wedding today. We can wait."_

_"No, we can't. I..." His voice trailed off. How could he explain this to her? How could he make her understand that he had to marry her? He needed her. Needed desperately to belong to someone. "I love you, Bethany." He kissed her, deeply, pulled his hands away and wrapped her in his arms. She returned his embrace, held him tightly._

_"I love you, Jean-Luc," she whispered in his ear after the kiss ended. They continued to hold each other for several minutes, and then Jean-Luc let her go, took a deep breath._

_"You'd better go finish dressing. I don't want to have to wait for you at the altar."_

_"You're sure you're all right?" She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide, concerned._

_"I am now."_

~vVv~

_"He doesn't know who he is?" Riker stared incredulously at Troi, and then at LaForge._

_"No, I don't think so," the counselor answered._

_"You both saw him?"_

_LaForge nodded. "Yes. And he saw me. Had no idea who I was. I think I frightened him."_

_"That's why I thought it best that Worf not go with us." Troi smiled apologetically at the Security Chief. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but had he seen you, I think his reaction would have been much worse. Klingons weren't around in the mid 1870's. At least not on Earth."_

_Worf inclined his head, accepted her reasoning._

_"He's been injured?" Crusher asked from her place on the opposite side of the conference table._

_"I think so. There was a bandage on his forehead, just above his left eyebrow," LaForge answered._

_"Beverly," Riker looked at the doctor, "is it possible that he has amnesia?"_

_She nodded. "It's possible. Either that or he's extremely disoriented due to his surroundings."_

_"I didn't think it was a good idea to confront him," Troi said._

_"You did the right thing," Crusher agreed. "If this holodeck world is real to him, then it's best not to mix the two realities."_

_"But we have to get him out of there," Riker said. "We can't leave him in the middle of that southern plantation permanently."_

_"Of course not." Crusher sighed. "Deanna, what do you suggest?"_

_The counselor hesitated, then looked over at LaForge. "Geordi, you can stop the program now can't you?"_

_"Yes."_

"_In that case, I think that's what we should do. Stop the program, and then deal with the aftereffects that may have on the captain."_

_"Just make his present reality disappear?" Riker queried. "Is that a good idea?"_

_"No," Troi replied honestly, "but it's the only one I can think of."_

_"I can't think of any other choice either," Crusher said._

_There was a momentary silence._

_"Then we stop the program?" LaForge asked._

_Riker nodded his head. "We stop the program."_

~vVv~

_He felt a little stronger as he stood on the edge of the veranda, waiting to walk out onto the side lawn where the ceremony was to be held. Already the guests were beginning to take their seats. Beyond them, horses and buggies were tied up along the dirt drive._

_Suddenly, the edges of his reality began to blur, and a vision of a memory came back to him: a hot, dusty, lingering sunset, a prevailing sense of dread. __**He stood in the middle of the drive, surrounded by men on horseback, staring up at a man dressed in a Confederate uniform. The soldier's horse was eager to go, and he reined him in, looked down at Jean-Luc.**_

_**"Don't worry, Captain. They won't even see us. We'll be over the lines and back before sun up tomorrow. And then we're goin' home." He smiled broadly. "Bethany's waiting for me, ya' know?" And with a self-assured nod of his head, he allowed the horse to gallop away.**_

_"Jean-Luc?'_

_The voice caused the memory to fade, and he found himself staring into a bearded face._

_"You all right?'_

_Jean-Luc shook his head, smiled faintly. "I'm fine."_

_The bearded man was George, and he'd turned out to be one of Bethany's brothers, as were Walker and Gresham. All three of them younger than their sister, Gresham barely thirteen. They were to be his groomsmen._

_"Goodness sakes, Jean-Luc," George laughed, "you really must be nervous. You can't even tie your tie." _

_The tall, blue-eyed man reached out and tied it for him._

_"Thank you, George." Jean-Luc smiled at him. Why did it seem so natural for George to be there at his side, helping him? He shook his head, leaned against the porch railing._

_"You know we're all glad that you're marrying Bethany," George said._

_Jean-Luc's smile broadened. "So am I."_

_"Don't see why anyone would want to get married though," Gresham shook his head, pushed his brown hair back, squinted his brown eyes at his future brother-in-law. "I mean, havin' a Mama's bad enough sometimes, why add another woman to your family?"_

_All three of the older men laughed, and Jean-Luc placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Wait till you're older, Gresham. Just wait till you're older."_

_"I think it's time," Walker announced from the corner of the veranda where he'd been keeping an eye of the pre-wedding procedures. "Papa says to get you down to the front of the altar as soon as I see the preacher show up, and there he is."_

_In a line, the four of them stepped off the veranda and made their way around the crowd of seated guests. Jean-Luc saw Bethany's mother sitting in the front row, crying softly, holding a handkerchief up to her eyes. He smiled at her, and she lowered the handkerchief and smiled back. Happiness in the midst of tears. _

_The rest of the faces in the crowd were strangers to him. He stood there, next to the preacher, rocked back on the heels of his feet, prayed that he wouldn't pass out._

_The music started, and he watched as three bridesmaids walked down the center aisle. The last bridesmaid, dark hair, dark eyes, smiled at him before taking her place on the opposite side of the altar. He smiled back at her. And then Jean-Luc saw Bethany, on the arm of her father, coming toward him. He couldn't see her face, for there was a veil covering it, and for some reason that bothered him. _

_And then, she was at his side, and her father was giving her to him. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and he could feel the warmth of it through the thick material of his suit._

_"Friends, family, we are gathered here today..." The preacher's slightly Irish accented voice was loud in Jean-Luc's ears, and yet he really wasn't listening to his preamble. He was waiting for the important words, and then he heard them._

_"Do you, Jean-Luc, take Bethany to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, as long as you both shall live?"_

_"I do," he answered without hesitation._

_"And do you, Bethany, take Jean-Luc to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, as long as you both shall live?"_

_"I do."_

_"And now, do you have the ring?"_

_The ring. Jean-Luc looked behind him and breathed a sigh of relief as George pulled it from his coat pocket and handed it to him. Again, he was there when he needed him._

_"Place the ring on her hand, and repeat after me," the preacher instructed. _

_Jean-Luc took Bethany's left hand, slid the ring on her finger._

_"With this ring," the preacher prompted._

_"With this ring._

_"I thee wed."_

_"I thee wed."_

_He felt Bethany squeeze his fingers._

_"And now, by the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife." He smiled at Jean-Luc. "You may kiss the bride."_

_He lifted the veil from Bethany's face. She smiled at him, her blue eyes glistening. She was so beautiful. Jean-Luc reached to touch her cheek - and everything went black._

~vVv~


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and reviewing!

"No!" he cried.

"Shhh, it's all right, Captain." Troi placed her hands on his shoulders.

He blinked several times, looked around, realized he was in his room, in Sickbay. He forced himself to relax.

"You're all right," Troi assured him.

He felt a wetness on his cheeks. "This is getting to be a habit," he mumbled as he accepted the tissue she offered, and then wiped his eyes.

"Tears are very healthy for us."

"In that case, I can't get much healthier," he frowned, then lost himself in thought for long moments, stared at the opposite wall. Finally, he turned back to Troi.

"What does it all mean?"

"I can tell you what I think, but what you think is more important."

"You were all there," he said slowly, remembering. "Will, Guinan, even your mother, and... And Vash."

The woman in the garden had been Vash.

Troi nodded. "Yes, we were all there, Captain."

Lines creased his forehead. "You mean, Bethany was..." he began haltingly, a look of shocked recognition crossing over his face, "was really Beverly. Only she can't be. Because..."

"Because why?"

"Because...Beverly belongs to Jack." His voice hardened. "And I can't be in love with my best friend's wife."

He'd said it. Out loud. Not in so many words. But he had alluded to the fact that he was in love with Beverly Crusher. He looked at Troi to gauge her reaction. But her face had not changed. It was calm and serene, not at all surprised, as if he'd told her something she'd already known. Something she'd probably known long before he'd even admitted it to himself. And he couldn't believe he'd admitted it to her now. But he had. He felt his face grow hot.

"She's not his wife anymore," she gently reminded him, not at all bothered by his startling revelation.

"No," Picard shook his head. "Beverly will always be Jack's."

"Is that what Beverly believes, or what you believe?" Troi asked probingly.

"It's what I know," he said firmly.

"We can usually convince ourselves of almost anything. Even talk ourselves out of loving someone, and make excuses for doing so."

"I'm not making excuses," he defended himself.

"Perhaps not. But you are denying some very strong feelings. Some of which came to the surface during your ordeal on the holodeck."

Picard narrowed his eyes at her, the expression on his face truly confused. "I didn't program what happened to me on the holodeck. It just happened."

"Yes, it did. But some of the...characters must have been inherent in the program to begin with."

"Holodeck programs are usually more enjoyable when...friends are present."

"I agree. I just think that the relationship you have with Beverly goes beyond mere friendship. Or it could, if either of you would allow it to."

"Counselor," he fixed her with a steady gaze, "I really don't think this is a subject we need to pursue."

Troi nodded. "I agree. I think it's one you and Beverly need to...pursue."

Before Picard could say another word, Troi got up out of her chair and walked over to the door. She looked back at him. "I'll tell her you have something you'd like to discuss." And then she was gone.

Picard sat there, propped up in bed, fuming. How dare she treat him like that? After all wasn't he the captain here? The one in charge? He had half a mind to order her back, issue a severe reprimand. Just who did she think she was? Telling him what to do, who to talk to? And what was she telling Beverly Crusher now? What intimate details of their conversation, or his experience on the holodeck, was she sharing with the doctor? And suddenly, irrationally, he didn't want to stick around to find out. He threw the covers back, frowned at the medical gown he wore. He couldn't very well leave Sickbay dressed like this. But surely, somewhere, he could find something to put on. Perhaps even the clothes

he'd had on before.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Picard winced. Caught in the act. He turned around slowly, holding the medical gown closed behind him.

Crusher stared at him, her blue eyes hard. "You're not leaving are you? After all," she said, trying to suppress a grin, "you're rather... skimpily dressed to be roaming the ship."

Picard's mouth tightened into a grimace. "I was not planning on going anywhere in this..." he looked down at his bare legs," this thing. I am attempting to locate my clothes."

"Oh, I see. Well, we brought you here in a suit, circa 1875. I don't really think it's appropriate now, do you?"

He exhaled tiredly.

"I assure you, I will provide you with clothing when I release you."

"Beverly, I feel fine," he shot back.

"When I release you," she repeated.

"You will release me now." His tone was sharp.

"I will do no such thing." Her voice was equally severe. "Now, I suggest you retrace your steps and return to your bed."

"Beverly-" he started to protest.

"Now, Captain," she ordered.

He reluctantly walked back down the Sickbay corridor to his room. She followed, and stood in the doorway as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"All the way under the covers."

"Beverly," he grumbled.

"Do you want me to come over there and tuck you in?" she threatened.

He slid under the blankets and settled them around him.

"That's better." She smiled. "Now get some rest and I'll bring you some lunch later on."

She turned to go.

"Beverly?" His voice stopped her. She looked back.

"You and I need to talk."

She smiled. "All right. I'll bring lunch for both of us." Then she left, the door sliding closed behind her.

Jean-Luc Picard leaned his head heavily against the pillow, released a long, shuddering breath. Why the hell did I do that? The whole idea was to leave Sickbay so I could avoid doing just what I asked her to do. Talk. About the things I told Troi. But what if she already knows? What if Troi's already told her?

No, she wouldn't do that. Yes, maybe she'd tell the doctor that there was something he wanted to discuss with her, but Deanna Troi would never betray his confidence outright. He suddenly felt as if he'd betrayed himself. Do I really want to explain my feelings for her here, now? And the little voice inside him, the one that wouldn't shut up sometimes despite his efforts to ignore it, answered his question, resoundingly, Yes!

~vVv~

It was not how Picard had imagined it or wanted it. He was still propped up in bed, still wearing his medical gown, finishing off a bowl of chicken broth. The doctor sat in a chair, next to him, eating a steak sandwich. Glumly, he dropped his spoon in the bowl, and it clinked against the side. He'd had enough soup in the past two days.

Crusher looked up. "Are you finished?"

"Can't I have something a little more substantial?" He eyed her sandwich enviously.

"You don't like your chicken soup?"

"It's boring," he complained.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, only he could tell she didn't mean it. "Tomorrow I'll let you have something more exciting."

"Beverly, there is nothing wrong with my stomach."

"No, but chicken soup is good for you, and I want to build up your strength."

"There's no use arguing about this, is there?" he queried dejectedly. He would have liked a good long, knock-down, drag-out fight over the matter. Anything to further postpone the conversation he had so artlessly set up.

"No use at all," she answered, and smiled. She hadn't said a word about what, if anything, Troi had said to her. Hadn't asked him any questions, nor pressed him for any details of his ordeal.

Picard sighed, picked up his spoon, and took another sip of his soup. He watched, longingly, as Crusher lifted the steak sandwich to her lips. Just as she was about to take a bite, her eyes caught his.

"Oh, here," she mumbled, setting the sandwich on the tray in front of him. "You finish it."

He grinned. "Why the sudden change of mind?"

"You wore me down."

"I didn't say a word."

"It's what you didn't say." She laughed softly. "Just eat it."

"Gladly." He picked up the sandwich and took a big bite, savoring the taste.

"Don't be surprised if you get indigestion."

He swallowed. "It will be well worth it."

Five minutes later, the sandwich was gone. And a few minutes after that, Picard felt a burning pain in his lower abdomen. He didn't say anything though, and avoided looking at Crusher as she cleared away the lunch tray. She returned to his bedside, a glass extended in her hand. "Here. Drink this."

He looked up. "Thank you, Beverly, but I'm really quite full."

"It's an antacid. For your stomach," she said, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around the glass.

He stared at the chalky, white liquid. "Go on. It'll help."

He frowned. How did doctors do that? Know when you were in pain without your saying a word? He lifted the glass to his lips, took a sip."Umm," his face wrinkled, "this is disgusting."

Crusher smiled. "Yes. I know. Drink it anyway."

"Beverly…"

"All of it, Jean-Luc."

He drank the rest of it, coughed, then gracefully exchanged the empty glass for a cup of water. He rinsed the taste out of his mouth. "You'd think by now they could make medicine taste good."

"You'd think by now that a grown man who captains a starship would know when to listen to his doctor." Crusher took the cup out of his hand, set it on the table, sat down on the edge of the bed. She studied his face. He felt self-conscious.

"The cut on your forehead healed nicely.

He touched the spot. "I can't even tell it was there."

"How was your talk with Deanna?"

The muscles along his jaw tightened involuntarily. "It was...very enlightening."

"That's good," she gave him that gentle, familiar smile of hers, and Picard felt himself relax a bit. "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"

The tension flooded back into his body, and Crusher, sensing his discomfort, touched him on the shoulder, rubbed her fingers over the knotted muscles. "Jean-Luc?'

"I, uh...I thought perhaps..." And then he realized what he had to do, what he had to explain to her, what she had to understand. "Beverly, I want...I need to tell you what happened to me on the holodeck."

"All right," she said softly.

Picard lowered his eyes. Long moments passed.

"I'm listening, Jean-Luc," she whispered.

He looked back, and drew strength from the blue eyes that never left his face as he recounted it all to her.

At some point during the telling of his story, Picard turned away from Beverly Crusher, rolled over onto his left shoulder, unconsciously pulled the blanket up around him, as if to protect himself from her reaction. But it was at that same point, that Crusher placed her hand on his arm, began to rub it gently,

soothingly, keeping him here with her, and not allowing him to retreat into that other world.

At the end, after he'd lived it all over again for the third time, and the memory of that dark holodeck pervaded his mind and soul, Picard simply lay there, silent, unmoving. His eyes were half-closed; the only thing he saw was the dull blue of the pillow case on which his head rested. The doctor had stopped rubbing his arm, but her hand was still there, heavy and warm on his shoulder. For several, long minutes, there was silence. And then, she spoke.

"I understand."

He sighed. With those two words, Beverly Crusher had lifted a weight from his shoulders, but not completely. Did she really understand? Did she know? Like he knew?

Picard rolled over, stared into her eyes. She stared back, her gaze never faltering.

"I'm sorry, Beverly," he murmured.

"Why?"

"I should have told you my feelings long ago." He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed. "Or perhaps I should never have felt them."

Crusher smiled slightly, shook her head. "Jean-Luc, you can't pick and choose your feelings like… like ordering breakfast. You just feel them. Sometimes, you tell other people about them. And sometimes, you don't." She lowered her eyes then, and Picard felt lost. But she continued to speak, and he concentrated on her voice. "I...I have those same feelings. I just never could tell you." She laughed softly. "Something always got in the way: terrorists, shrinking warp bubbles..."

"Jack?"

She looked up at him. "Oh, no. Jack doesn't get in the way. I will always love him. But he's gone, Jean-Luc." Her words were firm, as if convincing them both of the fact. "We love him and we miss him, but he's gone." She drew in a deep breath. "And we're here."

Picard reached up, touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "I love you."

She felt her bottom lip begin to quiver, and she caught it with her teeth. Her breathing quickened, softly, in and out. She tightened her hand on his shoulder, as if to assure herself that he was real. And he was.

"I love you," she whispered.

They held each other's gaze for several moments, the warmth of their feelings closing in around them, shutting all else out. And then Picard lowered his eyes.

She felt him begin to tremble.

"Beverly," he murmured, his voice husky. "I need you."

And this she also understood. He was not talking of the need a patient has for a doctor. Nor that of a man for a woman. It was something else, something basic. That of a single soul for another. His soul that had been alone far too long.

She drew him to her, felt the wetness of his tears on her neck, her own eyes damp.

"I'm here for you, Jean-Luc." She pressed her cheek against the smooth crown of his head. "I'm here."

He relaxed, his arms encircling her waist, imagined for a moment that he heard the sound of birds, and music, and the rustle of a gentle breeze in a non-existent oak tree. But this was real, tangible - their love a living, growing reality.

Crusher held him, would shelter him for a while. She knew their need for each other did not weaken them. For two souls together were stronger than one apart.

~The End~


End file.
